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Island storms happen quickly,
undo things.
Palm fronds flail against the shoulder of beach, wild hair
of a mistress, unpinned.
Dark lines diagonal, mascara
runs on the ruined face in the streaked-mirror sky.
Reds, tangerines, and blues
of lipsticks, eye shadows, and rouge
smear in the passion.
The jagged light chisels all of your faults
bare in the glare.
You clutch all you brought, run to escape rain
that, like tears, is already
another skin.
You crouch under some doorway, helpless, and wait
for the miracle
of belonging again.
by Ginger Murchison
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Ginger Murchison lives in Atlanta, Georgia, but escapes to the beach at
Sanibel Island, Florida, every chance she gets. A retired English teacher
of 13 years, she is a passionate book collector and associate editor of
The Cortland Review, an online literary magazine.
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